


go away closer

by plingo_kat



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Drugs, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, That turns into a real relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-11-15 06:09:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: Klaus always does this to him, pushes and pushes until his self control snaps, and then they laugh all the way down. Hitting the ground is brutal, but with Klaus it’s easy to forget. Every time.





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes Diego feels like he has no control over his life. Of course, nobody really does because the universe is a vast and uncaring machine, but Diego feels specifically and specially fucked over, forever grasping at a lifeline just out of reach.

Such as right now.

“Please,” Klaus says, eyes wide and just the slightest hint wet, makeup dramatically highlighting his expression. “Please, Diego, you have to help me.”

“No,” Diego says, weakly. Klaus must sense how close he is to caving, because he moves impossibly closer.

“C’mon, Diego. It’s a little favor. I’ll... clean your apartment? Cook you breakfast for a week? Update your wardrobe, because honestly you could really--”

“There’s nothing wrong with what I wear!”

Klaus leans back to eye him, head to toe. “If you say so.”

Diego crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I’m your _brother_. Can’t you find somebody else to help you out?”

“All the people I know who’d be willing are exes. Which would complicate things considerably, as you can imagine.”

Diego’s eyes narrow, imagining some former boyfriend of Klaus’ looming over him, cupping his face in a hand and smirking, asking for the return of a favor.

“Besides, it’s not like we’re actually related,” Klaus cajoles. He clasps his hands underneath his chin. “Pretty please, Diego?”

“Fine,” Diego sighs. Klaus cheers. “...Wait. Why did you say that.”

“Say what?” Klaus is already digging through Diego’s emergency duffel, making various faces at what he finds. He unearths a deep red button-down and holds it up. “Oh, you own colors other than black, I’m impressed.”

“Give me that.” Diego snatches it out of Klaus’ hands. “I’m not going anywhere without my knives.”

“You can’t wear,” Klaus flutters his hand at Diego’s everything, “ _that_ to a dance club. I mean. I guess you could. But people are going to stab themselves just walking past you. Don’t you have real sheaths? Maybe streamline into a concealed knife in your boot? You know?”

“Maybe,” Diego says grudgingly. He supposes it is a bit much to wear all his gear in such an enclosed space, with so many civilians; he depends a lot on maneuverability to make full use of all his knives. “But you’re going to be sober when we do this. Promise me.”

“I promise.” Klaus draws an X over his heart.

“Promise me and _mean it_.”

Klaus looks down at Diego’s open duffel, one hand resting at his throat, thumb tapping at his collarbone. Then he meets Diego’s stare. The words come out heavier, weighted with intent. “I promise.”

Diego blows out a sigh. “Good. Then I’ll pretend to be, “ he grimaces, “your boyfriend.”

“Thank you,” Klaus says, so sincere it sounds fake. “You won’t regret this.”

“I already am,” Diego mutters as Klaus throws another of his shirts over his shoulder. “A lot.”

*

“What are you _wearing_?” Diego says, aghast. Klaus does a little twirl, sheer coat swirling around his thighs. Under it he has on a mesh shirt and pastel crop top two sizes too small, a version of the side-laced leather pants that only reach just past his knees, and a pair of silver wedge heels. They add nearly three inches to his already tall height.

Diego looks down at himself. He has on his normal leather pants, combat boots, discrete knives at the small of his back and within his shoes, fingerless gloves, and in deference to the occasion, a red button up under a loose leather jacket. “Do I need to change?”

Klaus laughs. “Oh, Diego. No, I know that’s asking a little too much of you. But! In order to make you look a _little_ more approachable, I brought this.” He produces a white knitted infinity scarf from... somewhere... and loops it around Diego’s neck.

“Okay.” Diego tugs at it and deliberately doesn’t think about how it’s a choking hazard. “Come on, then. Let’s go.”

Klaus directs him to a part of town he rarely patrols; the residents get huffy about outsiders, even well-meaning ones, encroaching in their space. He wonders if maybe Klaus can introduce him around enough that they’d be willing to overlook him in the future, then considers whether he wants to be that well known. Maybe. It’s a possibility, anyway.

“So tell me again what the plan is.”

“Simple.” Klaus waves a hand. “You loom and do the thing with your face, and I have a good time.”

“Klaus.”

“Okay, okay. I’ve showed you a picture of Nick, right?”

“If by picture, you mean you made me look him up, yeah.”

“Right. Nick and I were, uh.”

“He was your dealer. We went over this.”

“Yes, well you don’t have to make it sound so _sordid_.” At Diego’s glare he continues hastily. “Anyway, Nick and I may have hooked up once or twice. Casually. You know how it is. Or maybe you don’t, okay, I get it, I’ll stop. But he’s started to get pushy, and it’s _ruining_ our professional relationship. So I told him I have a boyfriend now.”

“But you don’t.”

“I really don’t!” Klaus flails. “Which is why you, my dear, dear brother--”

“Yeah, I get it. What I don’t get is why you have to go to this party.”

“Because it’s _the_ party.” Klaus rolls his eyes when Diego’s expression stays blank. “There are a couple of really big parties a year, and you pretty much have to show up if you want to be in with, well, anybody. Socializing? I know it’s is a hard concept for you, because you think hitting people is the pinnacle of communication.”

_“Klaus.”_

“But I’m really very grateful!” Klaus says. “I will absolutely do you an unspecified favor of your choice after this.”

“I’m not helping you buy drugs.”

“You’re not! I’m not. We’re just going to convince this one guy that I’m, ah, off the market, and everything will be great.”

“I can tell I’ll regret this so much.”

“Think positive,” Klaus suggests. “Maybe you’ll loosen up and have fun.”

“I doubt it.”

“So do I,” Klaus sighs.

*

Diego is right. The party is loud and crowded, multi-colored lights flashing. It’s giving him a headache. Plus he’s on edge, trying to keep an eye out for the mysterious Nick. With the atmosphere it’s basically impossible.

“Come on!” Klaus shouts, tugging on his hand. They grabbed each others’ wrists to prevent being separated. Somehow it’s evolved into holding hands. Klaus’ palm is faintly clammy, fingers long and elegant, too bony. “Let’s dance!”

“I don’t dance!” Diego yells back. He catches a flash of the bright white of Klaus’ eyes when he rolls them up toward the ceiling.

“You do now!” Klaus says, and pulls Diego with surprising strength onto the dance floor. Diego nearly unsheathes one of his knives, but maiming Klaus is _probably_ a bad idea, given that he’s supposed to be protecting his virtue.

Not that Klaus has much virtue to protect, he thinks wryly. He’s maneuvered them so they’re face to face, skinny arms thrown over Diego’s shoulders, plastered together from torso to knees. His hips jump to the pulsing beat, grinding against Diego’s body.

“Come on,” he cajoles, voice lower now that they’re basically breathing each other's’ air. “Live a little, Diego.”

The crowd heaves around them. Diego can feel himself starting to get swept up in it, the frenetic energy sharp and electric under his skin, Klaus’ eyes wide and dark. He realizes abruptly that he’s swaying along with Klaus’ movement, body following an instinctive rhythm. Klaus grins at him.

A sudden wild recklessness grabs ahold of his brain. He’s so far out of his comfort zone, what’s a little more? Klaus always does this to him, pushes and pushes until his self control snaps, and then they laugh all the way down. Hitting the ground is always brutal, but with Klaus it’s easy to forget. Every time.

“Diego!” Klaus laughs, delighted as Diego grabs his waist and spins him.

“You wanna dance?” Diego grins back, sweat already dampening his hairline. That goddamn scarf, except he can’t take it off because there’s nowhere to put it. “Then let’s dance, baby.”

Klaus shivers theatrically. “Oooh. Manly.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He grips Klaus’ arm and waist, quirks a brow until Klaus nods, and whirls them into action. The floor clears around them as Diego uses every other beat of the throbbing electro to find his rhythm, the two of them whirling in a tight quickstep only achievable due to their training. They still remember how to work together. Klaus’ feet stay in perfect sync with his, between and around his legs, their bodies coming together and away. He pushes at Klaus’ shoulder and they unwind like a top, Klaus’ momentum arrested by the tight grip Diego has on his wrist, and he pulls back hard. Klaus’ mouth is open and laughing as he’s dipped far enough to lift one foot off the floor.

Diego pauses, panting. He can feel the strain of Klaus’ weight on his arms even with how light his brother is, ribs close to the skin under that thin little top.

“Literally swoon worthy.” Klaus is only breathless due to exertion, Diego convinces himself. He’s suddenly aware of how hot he is too, shirt wet against his back, sweat tickling the skin at his neck.

“Yeah, yeah.” He pulls Klaus up with a grunt. Klaus waves at something behind him and he realizes that people are cheering, hooting and clapping before pairing off into their own wild dances. Klaus bows with a flourish.

Diego just hunches his shoulders and takes Klaus’ hand again, dragging the other man away.

“Come on, I need a drink.”

“You read my mind.” Klaus flaps his ridiculous coat in an attempt to cool down, making him look a particularly ephemerous crane.

Diego orders beer; he doesn’t want to get drunk tonight. Klaus gets whisky. As they’re waiting he scans the room, trying to figure out where any drug deals might go down. There, in the corner? By the speakers? On the dance floor, where he spots one woman hand another a small plastic bag? He shrugs off his jacket and grimaces at the clammy feel of his sweat-soaked shirt hitting the air.

“Is this guy even going to show up?” He steals a piece of ice out of Klaus’ glass and pops it into his mouth, wincing at the quick burn of alcohol at the back of his throat. The cool trickle of water that follows soothes it. He sighs, sucking before he flicks the ice against his teeth with his tongue. Klaus stares at him. Too bad. If he wanted to protect his drink he should have paid attention.

“Of course he’ll show up,” Klaus says. He sounds distracted, still staring at Diego’s mouth. Diego crunches the ice between his molars and swallows.

“Where?”

“Where, what?” 

Come on, Klaus. He hasn’t even finished his drink and he already can’t think straight. “Where will he show up? Where do you usually meet him?”

“Uh.” Klaus finally seems to snap out of whatever fugue state he fell into, eyes darting to the side. He’s _still_ flushed from exertion, and Diego makes a note to drag him along on some of his runs. If he sticks around.

He looks down at his beer, thinking about how Klaus tends to show up when he wants something and then disappear once he has it, and how Diego can never resist giving it to him. It’s probably not healthy, but the hell is he supposed to do? Turning Klaus away when all he’s got left is drugs or the streets isn’t an option. Not for Diego. Not after the first time a call came through dispatch for a fatal overdose, victim male, six foot, dark haired, tattooed hands. Not since Diego thought, for nearly an hour, that another one of his brothers had died.

“Oh,” Klaus says. “There he is. Hey. Hey, Diego, there’s Nick.”

Diego turns around and yes, that’s the guy. He looks more built than his photo suggested, more bulky around the shoulders. More dangerous.

He seems to notice their eyes on him, because he turns around and zeros in on Klaus. Diego grips his beer glass as he makes his way over to them, slinking up to Klaus and setting an elbow on the bar.

“Hey.” Diego can see why Klaus might have found him attractive: he has good bone structure, a more pleasing nose than his picture showed, a much better hairstyle. But his eyes are weaselly. “Haven’t seen you around in a while, Klaus.”

“Nick.” Klaus traces a finger around the rim of his whisky glass. “Yeah, I’ve been busy doing... things.”

Nick leans in closer. “Oh? Want to share?”

“Sure.” Klaus waves at Diego. He takes his cue and looms. The glare on his face isn’t faked; he doesn’t like this guy. “This is Diego. My boyfriend? I know I told you about him.”

Diego crosses his arms across his chest. “Hi.”

Nick blinks. “ _This_ is your... boyfriend?”

Diego glares harder. “You have a problem with that?”

Nick ignores him. “Really, Klaus?”

“What?” Klaus says, defensive. “Diego’s a great boyfriend.”

“He looks like the straightest guy you’ve ever talked to.”

As if. Diego snorts. Klaus grew up with Luther. He shares a look with Klaus and mouths their brother’s name.

Klaus laughs. “Too true,” he says to Diego, then turns back to Nick. “He is absolutely not the straightest guy I’ve ever talked to. Want me to prove it?”

“Go ahead.” Nick raises his eyebrows, unconvinced.

Before Diego realizes what’s happening, Klaus hauls him in and kisses him. He flinches backward, nearly falling off the barstool.

“Oh,” Nick says sarcastically, “I’m really convinced.”

Klaus glares. Diego scrambles to recover, latching on to-- “You know I fucking hate whisky.”

 _Really?_ Klaus’ expression seems to say, but he runs with it. “All right, stud,” he says, and takes a pull from Diego’s bottle. Diego watches the bob of his throat. “Let’s do this again.”

It’s possibly the weirdest thing Diego has ever experienced, all the more so because it doesn’t actually feel weird at all. Klaus’ goatee prickles at his chin but he’s a great kisser, sultry and teasing, lips just the right firmness. Diego reciprocates as best he can.

They must be convincing enough, because Nick nods when they pull apart. Klaus -- when Diego looks over at him, he has to stop because -- Klaus really sells it, eyes heavy lidded, red high in his cheeks, hair a sweaty mess from their dance earlier. He looks like he’s been making out for hours instead coming out of a thirty second frenchie with his adopted brother.

...Yeah. Now that Diego’s been living out in the real word for a while, that sounds pretty messed up. Even if he _still_ feels like nothing terrible happened.

He channels all his uncertainty into his best glare. “Happy now? Klaus is taken. Fuck off.”

Nick raises his hands. “When you get tired of him, you know where to find me,” he says to Klaus, and leaves. Diego seethes. What an asshole.

Klaus laughs when he says it. “Maybe,” he replies cheerfully, “but he was great in bed.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t challenge your masculinity any more today, mi hermano. We can finish our drinks,” he drains his glass, “and go. Mission accomplished.”

Diego scans the area again. No signs of Nick.

“All right. But you’re coming back to my place.”

“Oh?” Klaus perks up. “I get to see your lair?”

“It’s a place I sleep, not a vigilante hideout.”

“I mean. You’re a vigilante. You hide out there.”

“I _live_ there. That’s not the same thing.”

“You say tomato, I say to-mah-to...”

Diego cuffs him on the back of the head. “C’mon, Shakespeare. Let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going have a lot more happen in it but I'm absolutely swamped with RL stuff so I guess this chapter will just be.. short.

“You moved into a _gym_?” Klaus says. He flits over to the boxing ring, the weights, the equipment rack full of protective gear. “Really? Could you be any more cliche?”

“It’s convenient,” Diego says, defensive. “Besides. I don’t need an apartment. That’s just a bunch of extra space.”

“How do you cook things?”

“I have a hot plate and an electric griddle.” Klaus looks at him pityingly. “What? It works fine. And I don’t have to wash a lot of dishes.”

“You really failed hard at normal,” Klaus observes.

“Like you did any better.” Diego snorts as he checks his hidden tripwire. Klaus breaks it as he walks past, but that’s fine. He’s home now.

“Yes yes, we’re both failures.” Klaus waves a hand. “At least, I’m sure dear old dad would say so. But I’m certainly having more fun this way.”

“Uh huh,” Diego says. He opens the fridge. A half dozen eggs, a cucumber, and some bread. He’s going to have to stock up. What does Klaus like to eat, now? He glances at him, remembering the feel of his ribs against his arm while they danced. Something with lots of protein, he hopes. Get some meat on those bones. “You want some water?”

A single glass of whisky is probably nothing to Klaus’ tolerance, but better to be safe than sorry. Diego wishes he had a banana but he ate his last one this morning, and a protein shake this late at night isn’t the best idea either. Half a beer isn’t all that much, really. It’ll be fine.

“Sure,” Klaus agrees. Diego brings out his one spare mug, a gag gift from some old buddies at the academy, dark blue with WORLD’S OKAYEST COP on it in stark white letters. Klaus looks ridiculous drinking from it in his crop top and heels.

“So where am I sleeping?” Klaus pokes at the couch. “Is this a pull-out? It doesn’t look like one.”

“It’s not,” Diego says. He knows he has some extra bedding _somewhere_ out of the way -- in the repurposed tool/electrical closet? “We’ll share the bed.”

“Oohh,” Klaus says, waggling his eyebrows theatrically. “Scandalous.”

“If you kick me,” Diego says threateningly.

“I grew out of that,” Klaus says. It’s supremely unconvincing, given that he winces right after he says it.

“Klaus.”

“Look,” Klaus says. “I promise that I no longer end up with my feet on the pillows, so I can say -- with certainty! -- that I won’t kick you in the head.”

“I guess that’s the best I’ll get,” Diego sighs. He flicks Klaus’ ear as he walks past.

“Ow!” Klaus flinches, hand coming up to cover his head. “What was that for?”

“A pre-emptive strike.” Diego peers at him over an armful of blankets. “For the bruises you’re going to give me tonight.”

“You don’t know I will.”

“Well.” Diego dumps the blankets on the bed and shrugs. “If not that, then the headache I’m gonna get from dealing with all your bullshit.”

“Hurtful.” Klaus employs the big soulful eyes. “Truly hurtful, bro.”

“Uh huh. Here.” A towel nearly hits Klaus in the face. “Take a shower, I’m not sleeping with you smelling like that.”

“You’re no rose either,” Klaus says. He takes a deep sniff, as if he can smell Diego from more than four feet away.

“I got my stuff already. C’mon.”

“Do you have your own shower?” Klaus watches Diego put on a pair of cheap plastic sandals. “I guess that answers that question. The gym showers, really? How do you live like this?”

“It’s not any worse than home. At least there’s always a shower open here when I want one.”

“I feel like that was aimed at me.”

“You took fucking forever in the bathroom, don’t lie. And you weren’t even using the shower. Just doing your makeup.”

“It’s a delicate process,” Klaus protests.

“You could have at least shared!”

“Please. You take your showers so hot, it would just fog up the mirrors. That’s why I started getting up earlier, you know. So I could actually see what I was doing.”

Diego opens the door and holds it, pointedly. Klaus slinks forward.

“Not even going to give me any clothes?”

“You can choose after. Nobody is here, it’s fine.”

They shower in silence. Well, _Diego_ showers in silence; Klaus sings a soulful, if not necessarily melodic, rendition of _Stuck on You_ , sticking his hand over the stall divider whenever he wants another accoutrement -- soap, shampoo, conditioner.

“I don’t have any conditioner.”

“Barbarian,” Klaus says, and goes straight back to singing. “Guess I’m onnnn my wayyy...”

When they’re back in Diego’s room, Klaus frowns as he digs through Diego’s closet.

“I don’t think any of these fit me.”

“We’re the same height, of course they fit you.”

“I have a very long torso,” Klaus says with dignity, dangling a pair of sweatpants at his waist. The hems drag along the ground. The t-shirt he’s wearing is loose in the shoulders and stops just above his towel, exposing the vulnerable jut of his hip bones.

“Just roll them up.”

“And your underwear is too tight,” Klaus complains.

“This better not be a dick joke.”

“Oh.” Klaus’ eyes light up. “I wasn’t thinking that, no, but now that you say it--”

_“Don’t.”_

“You make it too easy,” Klaus says, pitying. “But really, do you have any normal boxers? I’ve got to breathe. Down there.” He waves his hand demonstratively.

Diego heaves a sigh, but he probably does have loose boxers instead of his normal boxer-briefs somewhere. He guesses he should be glad that Klaus is even willing to wear underwear -- if he prefers something loose, then it would never fit under his normal leather pants.

The pair he finally digs up is bright red with a multi-colored star pattern, but Klaus probably likes that. He hands it over and Klaus looks at him from under his eyelashes, sly.

All the muscles in his body tense in preparation, but Klaus just takes the boxers and skims off his towel. Diego’s eyes catch on the long line of his thigh, the jut of hip, how the darkness of hair fades into milky soft skin bruised up in the shape of --

“See something you like?” Klaus drawls, and Diego jerks his gaze away. His heart pounds.

“What happened?” his mouth says. Klaus looks confused and he taps at his own hips and thighs. “How’d you get those?”

“What?” Klaus looks down, then traces the bruises with his long, elegant fingers. A dreamy expression drifts over his face, eyes half-lidded and far away. “Well, when a man and a man decide that they want to get a little rough in the bedroom...”

Diego hisses through his teeth. Figures. He doesn’t know why he was even concerned, of course Klaus was just playing rough to get his rocks off.

“Why?” Klaus continues, sending Diego a coy look.

“Sue me,” Diego snaps. “I thought you might have been hurt. But I guess you just like that kind of shit.”

The regret hits immediately when Klaus physically draws back, not quite a flinch but close.

“Aw, fuck.” He rubs a hand over his face before waving it at the bed. “I’m tired. I didn’t mean that. Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Klaus says. He’s subdued, the animation gone out of him, and it exacerbates Diego’s guilt. They climb under the blankets without talking, moving automatically into the configuration they’d used for years: Diego on the outside closer to the door, Klaus curled up behind him with his face toward the wall. This close Diego can smell the clean scent of his skin, his own soap and shampoo overlaid on it, and it makes something clench in his gut.

It’s been a long time since he’s trusted somebody enough to sleep in the same bed. Somehow, he thinks it’s been longer for Klaus.

He turns over. Klaus’ hair is a riot of curls, still slightly damp. His shoulders rise and fall with his breathing, and his spine is terrifyingly obvious under the thin, vulnerable skin at his neck.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Silence. Then, in a voice that transports him back to when they were kids, when Number Four thought Number Two was his coolest, most favorite brother, Klaus whispers back, “What?”

“I really am sorry. Didn’t mean to make you feel bad about... your partners. You know. You can do what you want, I’ve got no place to judge you.”

Diego wishes he could see Klaus’ face, but all he can see is the winged shape of Klaus’ shoulder blades under his shirt, the way they move when Klaus sighs. “Maybe,” he whispers.

 _What does that mean,_ Diego wants to ask, but Klaus is still pulled in tight, hunched and defensive. So Diego turns his back and closes his eyes.

“G’night.”

“Night,” Klaus mumbles. Diego listens to him breathe until he starts to snore, just a soft whistling of air through his nose. That’s new.

It’s a surprise, but he feels his eyelids get heavy. Klaus’ weight on the mattress behind him feels like gravity dragging him down, feels like the dreams washing out from his mind to pull him under.

He falls asleep wondering if Klaus will be there in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Klaus _is_ still there is the morning, and he’s already got the sweats from withdrawal. Diego wakes to find that his arm is damp from wrist to bicep where it’s cinched tight across Klaus’ chest; his brother’s shirt is wet all the way through.

They’re spooned together. Klaus must have kicked the blankets off some time in the night because Diego’s skin is cold where isn’t pressed up against another body, and Klaus is shivering. He isn’t sure if that’s from the temperature or the lack of drugs.

When Diego tries to get up, Klaus’ hands tighten around his wrist. He has Diego trapped, his arm clutched to his chest like a teddy bear.

“Hey,” Diego calls gently, voice rough with sleep. He jostles Klaus a little. “Wake up.”

Klaus grumbles and hauls Diego’s arm closer.

“C’mon, Klaus. Let me up.”

“Mm _mmm_...” Klaus whines, without moving.

“I _will_ pull you off the bed.”

Klaus doesn’t answer for a long moment, but then his hands let go of Diego’s wrist.

“There you go. I’ll get you some orange juice, ‘kay?”

“Nn,” Klaus says, and shivers when Diego stands up. He grabs the blankets and pulls them over Klaus, who then rolls over and wraps himself up like a burrito. Diego glances at the clock. Ten in the morning; the gym will already be open.

He fills a mug with juice and leaves it by the bed, then goes to brush his teeth over the sink. He can probably go buy some groceries and get back before Klaus fully wakes up, but -- he turns to look at the mess of Klaus’ hair tufting out of the blankets -- he doesn’t want to risk it. Better to take Klaus with him so he can’t run off.

Shit, he’s going to have to drop by the pharmacy, too. He’s got a good first aid kit, a necessity given what he does, but he doesn’t have anything that will make a drug comedown easier. Also. None of what he needs is legal, and he doesn’t want to introduce Klaus to a black market pharmacist.

He spits in the sink and wonders idly about handcuffing Klaus to the bed. Then he could run all his errands and be certain that Klaus would still be there when he returns. His mind extends the scenario to include Klaus yelling to be let out, the guys in the gym coming down to investigate and seeing a very pretty man in very obvious distress chained to Diego’s bed, and... yeah, no. That won’t work.

Geez. How long does it take Klaus to get up? He was definitely awake for a second there.

“Klaus,” he says, experimentally. No response.

“Klaus. Hey, Klaus.”

Nothing.

Fine. He fries up some eggs over easy on the griddle and eats them, then wanders around a little, lost. There really isn’t much to do in his apartment because he isn’t often there; it’s a place to sleep, not much else. His life takes place in the streets of the city, the police station, the public area of the gym. His car.

Klaus shifts on the bed with a distressed whine. When Diego looks over he’s all twisted up, one arm flung out of his blanket burrito. As he watches Klaus’ mouth drops open, eyebrows furrowed. His forehead gleams with sweat.

“Nn,” he says, almost inaudible. Then, louder, “no. No.”

“Klaus.”

“Stop... stop it...”

“Klaus!” His shout doesn’t work. Klaus whimpers, thrashing as well as he can inside his bedding prison. Diego stands and grabs his shoulder. “Klaus, wake up.”

Klaus’ eyes jerk open, white showing all around hugely dilated pupils. He’s panting, shaking, flinching away from Diego’s touch.

“Hey, hey, you’re all right. Klaus, you’re okay. It’s Diego, you’re at my place, remember? Huh, Klaus?”

Klaus swallows hard. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again. “..Diego?”

“Yeah.” Diego blows out a relieved breath. Damn. He’d forgotten how bad Klaus’ nightmares could get. “I’m here.”

“Why’m I...” Klaus looks down at himself, then wriggles himself free. His whole body is sheened with sweat. “Ugh. Gross.”

“No kidding,” Diego snorts. At Klaus’ offended look he grins, too wide for the circumstances. He doesn’t care. “Come on, get up. Morning’s almost over.”

Klaus turns his head as if he’s used to looking next to the bed for a clock, then reorients. “It’s not even eleven.”

“Over,” Diego repeats. He can’t stop himself from carding through the rat’s nest of curls that Klaus’ hair becomes after he sleeps for any amount of time, even as his fingers get tangled and kind of grossly wet. “Come on. We’ve got things to do today.”

“We?” Klaus yawns. “What ‘we’?”

“You and me, bro.” He pokes Klaus in the ribs and leaps away from the bed when Klaus yelps, throwing an elbow. “There you go, now you’re awake.”

“You asshole,” Klaus sputters. He sits up and spies the glass of orange juice. “Is that mine?”

“I thought you were going to wake up when I did,” Diego admits. “You kind of twitched. And stuff.”

“It’s very thoughtful,” Klaus assures him, and takes a huge gulp of juice. “Oh, you got pulp.”

“Lucky.” It really is; every other sibling hated pulp, except Ben, who couldn’t have an opinion anymore. One of the little details that bound the evens together.

Klaus drains the mug and swings his feet over the edge of the bed. He plucks at his shirt and makes a face. “I need another shower.”

“Gym’s open,” Diego says. “But you can use my stuff.”

Klaus hesitates. He glances at Diego, obviously contemplating something -- will he ask Diego to _go with him_ , like some sort of weird naked security blanket? -- but in the end he agrees. Diego wanders after him anyway.

“Gonna check in,” he says. “Clear you with the owner. Be back in ten.”

Klaus tends to take showers upwards of thirty minutes, but he just nods. If Diego’s hovering bothers him he doesn’t show it.

He gets yelled at a little, but in the end he talks Al around; Klaus is officially permitted to stay in Diego’s room without getting the cops called on him. He makes the rounds, saying hi to a couple of regulars, and then heads back to the locker room. Klaus is already dressed and waiting.

“So,” he says. “Diego. Bro. Mi hermano. Mein bruder.”

“What?” Diego cuts him off before he can _really_ get going.

“Plans,” Klaus says. “You said you had some. What are they?”

Deigo does a rapid recalculation and decides that they don’t _really_ need benzos. It could even make Klaus worse.

“Food,” he says decisively. “And since you’re going to be staying with me, we should pick up some of your stuff.”

“Uh.” Klaus looks shifty.

“I’ll wait outside.” Klaus probably doesn’t want him to see wherever he’s been living. Joke’s on him; Diego will drive him to his destination, and he’ll _remember_. He can do a recce on it later, after Klaus has cleared out.

“Okaaaay,” Klaus says, slow. “That’s... fine.”

“Good.” Diego grabs his shoulder and steers him toward his room. They drop off the shower caddy and Diego grabs his wallet. Klaus digs out something from his discarded coat, but Diego can’t see what it is.

It better not be fucking drugs.

It bothers him all throughout their shopping. Klaus makes him buy pop tarts -- not even tolerable pop tarts, like strawberry or chocolate, but instead the disgusting red velvet kind. If he wants red velvet, why not just buy a goddamned cake?

(“It’s not the same,” Klaus insists.

“It’s gross,” Diego says. “You’re gross.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Salmonella,” Klaus says. “I’ve _seen_ you eat raw eggs. You have no room to talk.”

“It’s protein.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“It’s _healthy_.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it--I’m not doing this with you.”

Klaus grins, triumphant.

They buy the pop tarts.)

He almosts demands that Klaus empty his pockets when they get to the run-down area of town Klaus directs him to, but that’s a step too far to go on a suspicion, especially so early in the game. Klaus still has one foot out the door; he owes Diego a favor, but not enough of one to put up with what he’ll definitely call _paranoid bullshit._ Instead Diego drums his fingers on the steering wheel and keeps a sharp eye on the apartment. It won’t help if Klaus decides to disappear out the back, but he doesn’t think that will happen. Klaus will want his pop tarts.

He jerks to attention as Klaus stumbles out the door with a duffel bag, nearly tripping down the short steps that lead to street level. Another man follows him out and Diego takes a second to realize that it’s the guy from the club. _Nick_.

Diego kills the engine.

By the time he’s out of the car, Nick has Klaus cornered with a hand around his wrist. Klaus’ own grip is white-knuckled on his duffel.

“I said _no_ , Nick.” Klaus’ voice is low but sharp. “I’m done with that.”

“Klaus,” Nick begins, but Diego doesn’t give him a chance to finish.

“Hey, Nick.” His voice is dangerously mild. One hand strokes over the knife at his belt. “What are you doing here?”

“Just catching up with some friends,” Nick says. He doesn’t let go of Klaus’ wrist. “Diego, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“Uhhh,” Klaus says, in a high kind of voice, fake smile plastered on his face. He inches closer to Diego. “Nice to see you and all, Nick, but Diego and I have to be going. Errands to run and... all of that.”

Diego stares pointedly at Nick's hand until he lets go of Klaus. Klaus immediately steps behind Diego and hooks his chin over his shoulder.

“I’ll be seeing you,” Nick says.

“Um,” Klaus says.

 _“Bye,”_ Diego says pointedly, meeting Nick's eyes and nudging Klaus backward. “You can dump your stuff in the back, babe.”

“Sure, sure.” Diego waits for Klaus to step away before he turns around. His back itches all the way to the car.

“So what the fuck was that about,” he says after he slams the door shut. A glance at Klaus as he turns the keys in the ignition reveals nothing; his face is turned away, forehead pressed against the glass. Nick -- he checks -- Nick re-entered the apartment. “Klaus. Tell me.”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Klaus says, but the normal level of sass just isn’t there. A shaky note underscores his words. “It’s nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing,” Diego says. He pulls out into the street, eyes on the road. Maybe if he doesn’t look, Klaus will be more comfortable. They always did their best sharing in the dark with their eyes closed, when they could pretend the next day that it was all a dream and their weakness was never exposed at all. “If you’re in trouble, I can help. I mean, I’m already doing you a favor, here.”

It’s not really the right tone, too casual. But Klaus always liked to pretend nothing bothered him, even when it clearly did. So. Diego waits.

“I--” Klaus starts, then falls silent. Diego continues to wait. This isn’t something he can rush. “A couple of weeks ago, I... No, shut up, he doesn’t need to hear that.”

Hallucinations? Or maybe the drugs have worn off enough that the ghosts are back. Diego grits his teeth. Wait, wait. Be patient.

“Okay,” Klaus says under his breath. “Okay.” Then, louder, “I actually broke up with Nick a couple of weeks ago. It was, you know. Normal. A bit of shouting, nothing serious. The important thing, right, is the _reason_ why I decided to leave.”

He falls silent again. Diego makes a humming, interrogative noise.

“You know me,” Klaus says, airy. “I don’t want to be tied down. So when he asked me to, uh, partner up for distribution, I declined.”

“Shit,” Diego says.

“Yeah.” Klaus giggles nervously. “Which is why I needed you as a cover. Makes it seem less like I bailed for, uh, _moral_ reasons.”

That’s not the whole story, and Diego knows it. “Gang connections?”

“Mmmmaybe,” Klaus says, and looks at Diego out of the corner of his eye. It doesn’t really work when Diego can see him full on in the rearview mirror, but he gives him points for trying. “I could just be a free spirit. Ahaha, get it?”

“Jesus,” Diego says, because he doesn’t enjoy puns unless he’s the one making them. “No.”

“Boo,” Klaus says. “Party pooper.”

“No,” Diego repeats with more emphasis. This will probably be easier with bribes. “No puns. If you shut up, I’ll stop for donuts.”

Klaus closes his mouth and mimes locking it with a key.

“Do you know what gang, though?”

Klaus shrugs exaggeratedly and points at his mouth, eyes wide.

“For _fucks sake_.”

*

Klaus coughs up the info eventually, via a whole dozen chocolate covered donut holes and a plum filling Berliner. Klaus bites into it with relish until jam dribbles down over his fingers and smears at the corner of his mouth. Diego shoves some napkins at him.

“Okay,” Diego says, already making plans. “He’s not in deep, and it’s a small operation anyway. I could get them busted.”

“I don’t want Nick to go to _jail_ ,” Klaus protests.

Diego stares at him flatly. “It’s either that or I stab him.”

“Recovering from a stab wound takes less time than three-to-nine for possession with intent to distribute.”

“Not if the stabbing is fatal.”

 _“Diego,”_ Klaus says, scandalized. He even puts a hand to his chest, eyes wide. “Murder is not the answer.”

“Oh my god, wipe your hands off,” Diego says, and grabs Klaus’ wrist. There is definitely a smear of powdered sugar on his shirt. “How are you an adult.”

Klaus takes another bite of his Berliner. More jam threatens to spill and he tongues it up into his mouth like a savage. Diego swallows.

“Ugh,” he says, averting his eyes. “I give up.”

“Does that mean I win?” The words are garbled, but Klaus’ glee is clear.

“No. I’ll do some recon, see what we’re up against.”

“Ohh, ‘we.’”

“Don’t. Finish your donut and let’s go.”

“Mmm,” Klaus says. He holds out the bag of donut holes. “Sure you don’t want one?”

Diego gives in. The sugar lies sweet on his tongue and Klaus grins at him, wide open with delight. Diego has to admit that he’s enjoying himself: he likes this.

He has to protect it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he protecc. he attacc. but most importantly... he buy klaus a snacc  
> \- [landfill_lady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/landfill_lady/pseuds/landfill_lady), who is much better at memes than me.

**Author's Note:**

> plingokat @ twitter
> 
> Also, there's a diego/klaus discord! hmu for a link, it's a fun time over there.


End file.
